


I Betray My Friends

by shortwavemystery



Category: Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortwavemystery/pseuds/shortwavemystery
Summary: 1979: Ordinarily, Paul could never get with a guy like Andy...but a compromising situation proves too tempting to resist.
Relationships: Andy McCluskey/Paul Humphreys
Kudos: 4





	I Betray My Friends

Exhaustion had a funny way of bringing people together. When chasing gigs, the little travails of life were always magnified--hunger, fatigue, borrowed synthesisers with disobedient dials. But once the demons were subdued, the camaraderie was also intense. It could make strangers into friends, and it had made Paul and Andy even better friends than before. Stress made for some spats, but they were solved and healed themselves in time. So far.

They couldn’t go on borrowing equipment, though. It strained and complicated everything they wanted to do, and Paul was sick of it. How long was he going to wait around and let his ideas boil over in his head, until they got their hands on a synthesiser they could call their own? They’d never sound like Kraftwerk at the rate they were going. The night’s frustrations had Paul digging around for the catalog page he’d saved earlier. Reading it over again, he refreshed himself on the most important of technical specs: the price! 36 weeks, sure, but only £7.76 per week. Just as he’d remembered. They could scrape that together...couldn’t they?

Finding that torn-away page felt triumphant, but now it was time to find Andy. Unfortunately for Paul, he’d apparently had a long enough day already, and was too busy passing out on the couch to provide a useful answer. Sprawling contentedly, arms behind his head, without having bothered to loosen his tie or take off his shoes, he was the very picture of bliss in repose, with a perfectly blank look to match his lack of waking-world concerns. 

Had digging for that scrap of paper really taken that long? Flushed, and still agitated, Paul put his hand on Andy’s shoulder, and shook him with vigour. There might’ve been some flicker or twitch of awareness, lurking somewhere under those eyelids...but it led nowhere. Andy had always been a heavy sleeper. Faced with futility, Paul’s started seething with envy for him, as opposed to rage. 

Paul took a step back, and a deep breath. In doing so, he caught sight of sleep’s uninvited guest--the burgeoning outline of an erection, laying claim to one half of Andy’s lap. He averted his gaze, instinctively, and raised one hand to cover his face, before blinking again, and feeling silly. He was all alone, and accountable to nobody...which presented a new problem altogether.

Inevitably, if he wanted to spend all this time around Andy, some compromising circumstances would arise between the two of them...not that that made the temptation less fresh and raw. Who wouldn’t want a guy like Andy that way, at least a little? He had charisma. He also had a few classically handsome features--broad shoulders, a strong jaw--while being far enough from modelesque that it was easy to imagine being with him. 

Imagine, anyway. Andy might be well-meaning, and effectively tolerant, but men weren’t for him. His look, his smell, and how he carried himself all spoke powerfully on his behalf, in the language Andy himself couldn’t understand. Paul could crush on him, sure, as much as he could stand there and holler at him about money while he slept. Nobody was home. 

And yet...in a new situation, all of that innocence became quite appealing. It might protect him from something he didn’t know could have hurt him. Paul let his eyes creep back over towards the bulge in Andy’s trousers, which had patiently awaited his decision. He knelt down next to him, coldly considering each step of the task at hand, everything that lay between him and a glimpse of heaven.

First came the matter of the belt. Thankfully, its free end lay exposed, ready for the taking. Slowly, he slipped it through the other side of the buckle with his right hand, noting the notch that was conveniently creased from habitual wear. Next came the button. He reached for it with his right hand, but it was on tight, and wouldn’t be a one-handed job. He glanced at Andy's face, remaining still and silent--the all-clear. Paul popped the button. 

Now came the zipper, something that could easily make noise if Paul wasn’t careful...he got a hold of the tab and started easing it downwards. Torturously slowly. The anticipation seeped through him, as thick as milk. But he did it, and finally, he could part the fabric of Andy's trousers, where his reward awaited him. Against a grid of red plaid, the diagonal curve of Andy's erection was unmistakable. Faced with the final obstacle, it was senseless to turn back now.

He peeled the waistband of Andy’s boxers away, and got that glimpse of his cock at last. It was better than he could have ever imagined it to be--utterly gorgeous. Bigger than he could ever have asked for, and really, bigger than he knew what to do with. It almost reminded him more of an arm than someone’s cock: thick and evenly-built, besides that arc towards its owner’s left, although its sturdiness was undercut by the delicate appearance of a prominent vein, blue under the light. Paul thought it looked like much more than a mouthful, though he would’ve loved to test that theory himself.

Paul leaned forward, and his eyes traveled downwards, taking advantage of the shift in perspective. Andy was covered with hair here--dark, dark hair, all over his stomach, and the insides of his thighs, like the waves in a field of grain. And, of course, at the base of his cock, a dense mass of tight, oily corkscrew curls, much like the ones on his head, which brazenly continued up onto his shaft, as well. How marvelous. Looking him up and down, Paul felt like Aphrodite falling for mortal Adonis; the pimple or three always nursed somewhere on Andy’s face couldn’t keep him from melting at the sight of him.

At this point, Paul could have zipped everything back up. Had that been all he wanted? Andy’s fixed and expressionless lips offered no comment on his greedy, compulsive thoughts. Paul eased the palm of his hand down Andy's stomach, following the pathway his hair hinted at. Lured along by the warmth of his skin, he gently inched his fingertips into that shadowy thicket. Careful not to tug on the coarse, unruly hairs, he let them twist as they pleased around his intrusive fingers--and grazed the side of his cock with the back of his hand. 

Paul’s chest shivered. The next frontier...his eyes darted towards Andy’s face again. Nothing. How could he resist the desire to go further? Resting his hand, lightly, around the base of Andy’s cock, he remained alert for any hint of awareness. He put just enough force in his touch to feel the firmness, the slight give of muscle under the skin. He moved his hand up the shaft, stifling an urge to sigh--the last thing he needed was a cool breeze in the wrong spot. He made the opposite motion, pulling down and shifting Andy’s foreskin just enough to unveil the perfectly sculpted head, a delicate red heart, his final and ultimate prize.

Paul wished the nervous lump in his throat were something more tangible...but he didn't have the courage to push his luck any further today. He brought the waistband of Andy's boxers back up into the faint red line they'd marked in his skin, promising himself the fun was over. Out of sight, out of mind. He eased that zipper upward, slowly, careful to avoid snagging anything in the process, and threaded the button. And lastly, the belt--just as he’d noticed earlier, Andy’s preferred notch had a telltale crack through it, making it easy to replace, just as he’d found it. 

Paul stepped back from the scene of his crime, electrified as much by his experience as he was by getting away with it. But there was one last bit of evidence to deal with...the throbbing hard-on he had developed. Thankfully, that had an easy solution.

He scurried to the restroom, clicking the door behind him, and trying to let the privacy calm his nerves. But that was hardly necessary, after something so outrageously stimulating. He whipped his own cock out, brusquely, and started pumping it, dry--it wasn’t like he planned on being here long.

Paul closed his eyes, and let his mind resume wondering just how much of Andy would fit down his throat, if he’d gotten to try. A hint of sweat. Salt, on the roof of his mouth. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get a sore jaw for his trouble, something he could nurse all through the next day, smiling to himself when it hurt. To say nothing of the taste of getting it from a guy like him. 

Even in Paul’s wild fantasies, Andy was irreparably straight. He imagined pleasuring him, taking that wonderful cock as best as he could, and receiving in return those quiet, subtle sighs and grunts, the kind you got out of men who’d never pondered what it meant to be a man. He might be selfish--those “types” often were--but he couldn’t care. Andy could treat him like sucking his cock was a privilege, if he wanted...as far as Paul was concerned, it was, and he could suck and serve all night. He’d even relish a chance to get his shoes off and rub his feet at the end of the day.

Ah, but he could still imagine turning the tables. It was still his own fantasy, right? What if Andy was in front of him now, and he could shoot his load in his face instead--wouldn’t that look nice, all over his harsh features and that heavy brow? Maybe he’d smile up at him afterward, grateful for being made a mess. Now that was a thought..that certainly pushed him closer to the edge.

What might kissing Andy be like? The thought crested in his mind suddenly, but it fixed itself there. Maybe he was all about tongue, maybe he was the type who would throw his arms around you, and drag you down with him. Maybe he was cheeky, and he’d distract you by your mouth, while pinching your backside. Or, maybe...maybe it’d soften him right up, and he’d turn away from you if you tried, blushing, grinning. 

Yes, that lovely smile, with that gap in his teeth that seemed to suit him so perfectly! Who could see that and not be compelled to make him happy any way they could? Paul wondered if he’d smile like that as he sucked him off, or after he’d been drained and satisfied. What sort of face would he make when he came--joyous, surprised, tense with concentration? Eyes closed, or eyes open? Paul liked the latter. Andy’s eyes were lovely, too: grey in the light, and a little murky. 

But whatever happened to his face, the real show was below. Paul put himself back in that moment from before, and thought of what he’d have kept doing, if he could...and the logical result. How would that big, thorny bush of Andy’s look with his cum sprayed everywhere, glinting inside of those curls?

...and that was that, for Paul. He felt relieved, but also sick with shame, and syrupy, clinging guilt. Had he really gone so far, for something that already seemed so petty? There was no defending it. Some friend, he had been. Now what? Talk to Andy again, tomorrow, and the day after that, and so on, like everything was ordinary between them? Well...from Andy’s point of view, it was, wasn’t it? And besides...he was going to have this day to remember, over and over again.


End file.
